


From the Mountains to the Sea (Never Seen a Thief Like Me)

by Lobo_Loca



Series: Octopath drabbles [2]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, One-Sided Flirting, Therion is the Biggest Disaster Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobo_Loca/pseuds/Lobo_Loca
Summary: Tressa is invited aboard the ship of Leon Bastralle, and Therion decides to tag along.





	From the Mountains to the Sea (Never Seen a Thief Like Me)

“But you only let people trust on your ship,” Tressa demures to Bastralle, like the five of them haven't just chased a band of pirates out of Rippletide.

Therion has half a mind just to toss her and her puppy crush onto Bastralle’s boat to get it over. Unfortunately enough for Therion, Tressa’s managed to worm her way onto the list of people he would prefer not to end up dead, maimed, or more traumatized than they started.

And he doesn't trust Bastralle as far as Ophilia could throw him.

Frickin’ Leon Bastralle, in the frickin’ flesh, sweeping in to save them like some big damn hero. Like he's not the sort of infamous that gets his name all the way up to Bolderfalls.

Bastralle can play respectable merchant all he wants, but Therion’s not buying it.

“As I said,” Bastralle tells Tressa, exuding friendliness from every pore with hands clasped behind his back like some sort of a noble, “come aboard.”

Tressa bolts up the plank, all but vibrating with glee. Probably over the moon just to be on what she considers an actual merchant ship.

It looks and sounds like a merchant ship by all accounts, but it’s still Leon Bastralle’s ship. Therion will believe it’s an average merchant ship when a pig pops down from the clouds to say as much.

Waiting until Bastralle and Tressa are out of view, Therion heads for the anchor. He tugs at the anchor rope and, finding it plenty sturdy, grabs hold with both hands and steps off the dock.

“Um, Therion?” Ophilia said hesitantly as he pressed his feet together around the rope. “I'm not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Don't worry so much. I've done this before plenty of times.”

H’aanit murmurs, “If the fool wishes to walketh into death's chaps, I sayeth we leaveth him to it.”

“Thanks for the ringing endorsement,” Therion mutters as he hauls himself over the railing and onto the ship.

Righting himself slowly, Therion takes in what he can see of the deck. Which is mostly treasure.

Lots and _lots_ of priceless treasure.

Therion wonders distantly if this is what the nice part of the afterlife is supposed to look like.

“Please, take whatever you like,” Bastralle is saying to Tressa

“Well,” Therion murmurs as Tressa hurriedly declines, “don't mind if I do.”

Between Tressa and all the pre-launch preparations, none of the crew are paying Therion any mind as he starts snooping through the treasure piles. Multiple treasure piles. Just lying about on deck for anyone to gander at and any thief worth his salt to pilfer.

Mostly gold, but silver and platinum too. Coins, jewelry, trinkets, paintings and more from every corner of the world.

Therion runs his hands over it all, careful to make not more than the tiniest of sounds hidden by the sound of the waves, and plucks things to admire before putting them back. Many of the treasures are too unique or large to secret away unnoticed. While Therion's all for tweaking Bastralle’s nose, he doesn’t actually want the man out for blood. There are Tales about fools who’ve run afoul of Leon Bastralle.

After careful pursuing and talking himself out of snatching one of the Hornburg gold pieces, Therion settles on a handful of silver leaves stamped with the mark of the Atlasdam treasury. At least forty years old, but from an overflowing chest so unlikely to be missed.

Therion dodges around crewmen as he meanders back to the anchor. Wouldn’t do to overstay his welcome after all.  He gets one hand on the railing when a very sharp blade presses against the side of his throat.

Caught twice in two weeks: Therion must be losing his touch.

He turns carefully to glimpse the owner of the blade. Bastralle smiles gentilly, and Therion fights not to blanche.

“May I help you, Captain Bastralle?” he asks breezily.

Behind Bastralle, Tressa gives him a smug, superior look as she clutches a worn journal to her chest.

 _Serves you right_ , she mouths to him. With a jaunty wave, Tressa heads back down the gangplank to the dock, leaving Therion to face his doom alone.

“I believe something of mine has made its way into your pockets,” Bastralle says, magnanimously removing his blade from Therion’s throat. “I would be much obliged if you put it back where it belongs.”

Therion, because he's an idiot and can't help himself, asks dryly, “And if I don't?”

“I might be forced to bodily relieve you of my treasure.” Bastralle steps closer, smile tilting invitingly. “Though such a thing might be a bit forward without a few drinks first.”

Therion swallows thickly, forcing himself not to take a step back and hoping fervently the heat he feels in his cheeks isn't noticeable. “Uh.”

That. That sounded suspiciously like flirting.

From Leon Bastralle.

Towards _Therion_.

Now, Therion isn’t going to say seducing him _wouldn’t_ get Bastralle the coins back. Mostly because no one has ever actually tried that before. Typically they strip him and throw him in a cell, or shove a sword in his face until he hands it back. Assuming his marks notice their valuables are missing in the first place.

(Therion might also be slightly weak to highly capable and charming men.)

Bastralle chuckles at whatever he gleans from Therion’s face, leaning back. “Perhaps I should start a bit smaller. Might I ask the name of such a daring rogue with exceedingly talented fingers?”

“Um,” Therion fumbles, because that was. That was smooth. Like the finest silk ever woven in verbal form, and Therion can't possibly hope to match that as tongue-tied as he currently is.

Suave ex-pirates maybe-flirting is completely uncharted territory. Reciprocating is likely either a brilliant or disastrous idea, but he’d need actual working brain cells for that. Also, the whole dragonstone business means Therion’s on a bit of a time crunch to be taking drink breaks with handsome strangers that are unlikely to end at just drinks.

So strategic retreat it is.

“Raincheck,” Therion manages. Gesturing vaguely overboard, he continues, “I’m just gonna—” before casually jumping over the railing.

Catching the anchorline and sliding onto the deck instead of into the harbor is mostly luck, but Therion makes doubly sure to stick the landing and nonchalantly saunter back towards town to make it seem intentional.

H’aanit’s unimpressed stare and Ophilia’s stifled giggle undermine the coolness factor, but considering they’re some of the most useless sapphics Therion has crossed paths with, he's not going to take it personally.

(Denial is the only thing preserving his last shreds of dignity at this point.)


End file.
